


After the Fall (I'm Falling Again)

by foxy_johnlocker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little, Aromantic Mycroft, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Childhood Trauma, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Season/Series 03, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8978713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxy_johnlocker/pseuds/foxy_johnlocker
Summary: After his best friend Sherlock Holmes jumped off a building, John Watson tries to find a distraction from his grief in the form of the enigmatic but enthralling Mary Morstan, who is, according to her, his soulmate (his scar covers the name). But Sherlock isn't really dead, and he comes back (as we all know lol). One almost-fuck later, John is questioning who his soulmate really is, and Sherlock wonders whether, and why, he is capable of sentiment. They both try to find the answers in their childhood and their role models, but eventually, it all leads back to the two of them, alone against the rest of the world.Sherlock's reappearance exposed to him what he had always tried to keep hidden: he is nothing like his brother in the very worst way, and John is just like his sister in the very worst way.





	1. The One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really shit at tags but this is basically just a slightly more angsty, relationship-centric, sexy version of Sherlock season 3 if they were all born with their soulmate's name on their shoulderblade. Nothing too novel but I'm having a lot of fun thinking about this. Hope you enjoy! And I'm really sorry in advance if I don't update often but I will try to. <3

John Watson was walking through Westminster on the edge of Regent’s Park, his thoughts just drifting toward the darkness that always moved around his brain, hiding in a corner somewhere where he could try to ignore it. It was Sherlock, of course, who caused these thoughts, or rather, Sherlock’s death. Hence, it came as a welcome surprise when he spotted his old friend Mike Stamford a short distance off. “Mike! Mate!” he called to him across the somewhat crowded sidewalk, trying very hard now to push away any depressing thoughts. “Good to see you!”  
“Hey, John! It’s been ages!” Mike replied. “It’s a nice evening, how ‘bout we have a pint together? I know a pub just down the road.”  
“Right, yeah…” John muttered, trying to remember if he had anything planned that night, then realizing that with Sherlock gone, he never had anything planned, really. It was an utterly dismal thought. God, he needed this night out with Mike. “Yeah, sure, let’s go!”  
They began to walk quickly to the pub on the corner through the crisp air. “So how’ve you been?” Mike asked.  
“Ah… Good, good,” John lied. “I moved out of Baker Street. I assume you’ve heard…”  
“Oh… yes, I have. I’m really sorry, John,” Mike said earnestly.  
“Yeah, well…” John sighed. He really needed to talk to someone about this, maybe even himself, just to get his thoughts straightened out, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to make Mike that person. “I’m getting over it,” he finally lied. “It was dangerous to get attached to someone like Sherlock. We were… close, but nothing… nothing special. I’m getting over it,” he repeated monotonously. How often had he had to give this speech to people who asked but didn’t really care, who nodded but didn’t really understand? He was not ok, and he couldn’t just keep on pretending. He took another breath against his will and asked, “But what about you? What’ve you been up to? How’s the teaching going?”  
“Ah, just fine. Just like always. Never really much going on.” He paused, then added, “You can finally say the same, huh? Finally some peace and quiet?”  
John did not find this a very fitting question, but he tried to answer anyway. “Yeah… Sherlock did keep me on my toes,” he replied stiffly. He couldn’t help but long for that excitement back. “It was never boring.”  
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Mike said, trying to be understanding.  
And John broke. He had to say something more. He had to let it out. “Sherlock was the best friend I could have asked for. He was really the one person I depended on. I really miss him.”  
“He was the one, then?” asked Mike. He had set them up knowing they would be great friends, but the more he heard, the more he believed they could well have been something more. What a shame that Sherlock had committed suicide before they could get together.  
“The one?” John looked confused. “Oh, that. No, no, he wasn’t. And anyway, I don’t have that. I never really cared to look, and then I lost it in the war.” He looked troubled for a second, then shook it off. It had been a while since he had last thought of the name etched into his left shoulderblade at birth, his soulmate’s name. He had decided it was best not to think about it after what had happened to Harry.  
“Oh… Sorry for asking, mate. Must be… Never mind,” Mike muttered.  
***  
It was the early 1980’s. John and Harry Watson were playing on the floor of their shared room, chasing each other and playing dress-up and giggling. “John,” Harry blurted out, “can you see the name on my back?”  
John lifted her shirt up. “Yeah, I can see it,” he replied.  
“What’s it say?” Harry asked and bent down so John could read it.  
“Uh… It says… M… A… R… Y!”  
“Mary?” Harry said, astounded. “That’s a girl’s name!” She laughed. “John, you’re tricking me! What’s it say?”  
“It says Mary!” John protested.  
“It does not!” his older sister cried, turning to face John. “Can’t you read?”  
Reading was a bit of a sore subject at the moment for young John. He began to tear up. “Mummy!” John bawled. “Mummy, Harry’s being mean!”  
Mrs. Watson eventually came in after numerous cries and asked what was the matter.  
By now, Harry was also rather touchy, and she whined, “Well, John was going to read the name on my back, and he read the wrong name, he read a girl’s name!”  
“I did not!” John impulsively retorted, used to contradicting his sister’s every word.  
“You did too! You read Mary!”  
Mrs. Watson bit her lip, watching the children squabbling but unsure how to intervene. She had seen Harry’s name before, and she and her husband constantly worried about it. This was not a good sign for their daughter.  
Finally, she said slowly and deliberately, “Kids, no need to fight. I want you both never to look at each other’s names again until you’re older. It’s not right for your age. Can you do that for me?”  
“How old, Mummy?” John asked plaintively, looking up at her with big grey eyes.  
“’Till you’re eighteen, sweetheart,” Mrs. Watson replied. “Now get along, you two!” And she hurried back to the kitchen.  
***  
Ten years later, John was waiting outside the bathroom door before school. “What are you still doing in there?” John called, knocking impatiently.  
“The hell you think?” Harry called back. “Go away!”  
John opened the door and stuck his head in. Harry was unbuttoning her flannel. She turned to him and flipped him off, then continued to unbutton her shirt.  
“What’re you doing?” John asked again.  
“You’re just the stereotypical little brother, aren’t you? Always asking questions. You act like you’re five.”  
Mrs. Watson hurried past and said in a nasal tone, “John, close the door. Your sister’s a young lady now, it’s not decent for you to see her without a shirt on.”  
Harry slammed the door in John’s face, and he turned to go to his room.  
Later, as they were walking to school together, facing straight ahead and not speaking to one another as usual, Harry suddenly said quietly, “John.”  
“What?”  
“I was looking for the name.”  
John was startled for a moment. “You were what?”  
“Looking for my soulmate’s name.” She paused. “It’s been ages since I thought about that. But remember when Mum told us not to look ‘till we’re eighteen? ‘Cause you read the name on my back, and it was a girl’s name.”  
“Yeah, I remember. Probably couldn’t read too well.”  
Harry laughed grimly. “Yeah, well, you’ll never believe what it said.”  
“What?” John sighed, not really interested.  
“Mary.” Harry took a deep breath. “You were right all along. It said Mary.”  
“Harry and Mary! Fits pretty well,” John said absentmindedly, before realizing the significance of the name. “Oh… You mean… you’re…”  
“Yeah. Look, I know you’re a little dick most of the time, but could you… just… not tell mum or dad? They probably know, and that’s why…”  
“…why they don’t want us to look,” John finished. He paused in deliberation. “Ok, Harry. I won’t tell them.”  
Harry put her arm around her John’s shoulder. “Thanks, little brother. And another thing: Don’t you want to know what your name is?”  
John rolled his eyes. “John.”  
“No, stupid! Your soulmate’s name!”  
“But we’re… not supposed to.”  
“Don’t be such a pussy!” Harry cried. “No one will care – or know! Come on… I told you mine!”  
John furrowed his brow. “I don’t know, Harry. I don’t want to be… gay…”  
***  
John was afraid. He was very afraid. Harry had turned eighteen, she had “officially” found out, and Mr. Watson had basically kicked her out of the house. Now John was sitting on the bottom bunk of his and Harry’s bed and watching solemnly as his sister packed her things.  
“Fucking dad,” Harry spat as she packed another pair of jeans into her small black suitcase. “Fucking dad and fucking mum and fucking gay and fucking ‘Oh Harry that must be why you wear boys’ clothes and use a boys’ name haha yes that must be why haha you’re practically a boy it’s not right for a lady…’ I’m fucking sick of it! It’s about damn time I’m getting the fuck out of here.”  
John didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He watched her reddish brown mess of unkempt hair bobbing up and down against the light cast by the small lamp on John’s desk, trying to stay fixated on one aspect of her to block out how much he would miss the whole of her. She didn’t seem worried, just steely and mad. Maybe even relieved. Relieved? No. She might be trying to sound determined, but deep down, John knew she was unsure of what even the next hour would hold.  
At long last, Harry had zipped up the suitcase, written “Fuck you” on her bedspread with a sharpie despite John’s admonitions that she should just leave it be, and slowly turned in a circle, mentally saying goodbye to everything from her childhood before moving on to a new era. “Bye, John,” she said and drew her little brother in for a hug.  
“I’ll keep in touch,” John choked out, embarrassed to be so attached to his sister and afraid and sad to lose her and worried about his own future after having seen the extent of his dad’s chauvinism.  
“What was that?” Harry asked, drawing away.  
Tears stung the sixteen-year-old’s eyes. “I said… I’ll… keep in… touch,” he repeated and broke down in sobs.  
“You stay safe, okay?” Harry said softly and gave John another hug. Then she took her suitcase, paused for a moment, and took a deep breath, then opened the door and strode out. The sound of her boots hitting the hallway floor echoed as everyone in the house was silent. Mr. and Mrs. Watson watched her go, sitting together on the sofa hand in hand. And John was collapsed on his bed sobbing silently, hearing his sister go for what seemed like the last time.  
***  
Of course it wasn’t the last time. Five years later, John was a student at Bart’s Hospital and had mostly cut his ties to his parents when he got a text from an unknown number reading: “A little bird told me you’re studying at Bart’s. Call me when you can. This is Harry, by the way” As soon as he read the text, John broke out in a big smile and immediately called his sister back. They arranged to go out for drinks that evening.  
“Harry!” John cried as soon as he spotted his long-lost sister at the bar. She had hardly changed, just maybe grown a little taller, but she was still the chubby, sweary, curly-haired girl she had always been. John, for his part, was practically a different person; more muscular, more confident, more intelligent.  
“John!” she responded and gave her brother a quick hug. She paid the bartender and took a swig of her beer. “’S good to see ya!”  
John smiled. “Good to see you too! Where are you staying? What’s… what’s happened since you left home?”  
“Hmm, not too much,” replied Harry, taking another drink. “I’m living with my girlfriend, she’s not the one, but what the hell, she’s pretty cool,” Harry said.  
“You’ve… got a girlfriend! Great! That’s great!” John looked up at her with an amazed look. His sister, that all-over-the-place outcast who’d just left her home without money or a plan a few years back now had a place to stay and a partner, too.  
“Yeah, she’s cool.” Harry lowered her voice, with a mischievous smirk playing across her round face. “D’you wanna hear about the sex?”  
“No!” John protested, rolling his eyes. “Although, I have to admit, I’ve always wondered about lesbian sex…”  
“So basically, you get up on top of her…” Harry began delightedly.  
“Oh my God, Harry, I wasn’t bloody serious! Stop it!” They both laughed and continued bantering for the rest of the night. But as time went by, Harry’s girlfriends came and went, sometimes she was “straight,” then she was gay again, then she voted conservative, who the hell knew what was going on with her.  
***  
“Yeah, you know, who the hell knows,” John concluded. His head was still absentmindedly buzzing, worrying he might have said too much or too little. All he’d said was that Harry was gay but their parents had been really detrimental to her confidence… and now she had an alcohol problem. It was really a shame, John thought, what a strong woman she had been before things started going downhill with Clara. John had always had his doubts about the relationship, although Harry steadfastly proclaimed that since Clara’s middle name was Mary, there was absolutely no doubt that they were meant for each other. Clara did have a male friend named Harry, and John always had to convince himself he was imagining things when he saw them make a little too heated eye contact. Even so, however, Clara and Harry had really had a functioning relationship until Harry’s excess drinking began. The divorce was in three weeks. John hoped his sister would find some way to be less of a trainwreck.  
“Yeah…” Mike said slowly. He didn’t really know what to say to John; his life was so boring and John’s was so eventful and, admittedly, tough. “I’m sure things’ll work themselves out. You should just worry about yourself. But by the way, mate, d’you think you might’ve met your soulmate?”  
John laughed. “Me? I have no idea. I don’t want to start something with anyone when she ends up not being the one. It’s tough… but I don’t think I’ve met the right person yet.”  
***  
The next day, John walked into the clinic and greeted Miss Parker at the front desk, then walked to his office. Ms. Morstan was waiting for him.  
“Hey there, John,” she said sweetly.  
John furrowed his brow in surprise. “Uhh… Good morning. Nurse Morstan.”  
“Oh, no need to be so formal,” she flirted. “How was your time off?”  
She smiled in an odd, but somehow sexy manner. What the fuck was going on? Was this nurse flirting with John? “Um, fine, good. What are you…” John pursed his lips. He didn’t exactly want to kick Ms. Morstan out. To soften the blow, he started again, “Do you have something for me to do? Why are you…”  
She laughed. “Oh, yeah, I have to ask you something.”  
John paused. “What?” he then demanded, starting to become exasperated.  
“Would you go on a date with me?” Mary said simply, with just the right edge on her voice to make John actually consider the hypothetical possibility that she could be good for him.  
“O…kay,” he said slowly. “Yeah, why not? That would be great! Does tomorrow night work for you?”  
It did.


	2. Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter but I wanted to update lol. Hope you like it have a nice day :*

It had been another lonely and dull day off work. Groceries and telly, mostly. John had wanted to do something but he couldn’t think what, so he was stuck in a confused limbo between going out and staying in. He was also wondering how his date with Mary would go, a subject that afforded perpetual puzzlement. What the hell was she doing asking herself out for him? Why was she interested in him anyway? Wasn’t this just the right way to forget about Sherlock’s death? Then why did it feel so wrong?  
He huffed and put on his coat. In any case, this was going to be an interesting night. He took the tube to the Indian restaurant he and Mary had agreed on and found that she was already sitting at a table when he arrived at the restaurant. Worried, he checked his watch. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked her, taking a seat.  
“No, not at all,” she said casually. “I just like to be early. Gives me an edge, you know?”  
“Sorry, are we playing chess here, or…?” John joked.  
“Well, kind of,” Mary replied enigmatically. “More than you think.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“Oh, nothing at all.” They began to look over the menu. “So what’s your next move?”  
“Oh, the chess game?” John laughed. Mary was a charming woman. Although she had a bit of a queer manner about her, and John wondered why this was all happening so suddenly after they had known each other for some time, he couldn’t help feeling a little smitten with her already. “I don’t know.” John moved his hand over and placed it lightly on Mary’s. “Maybe… this?” He turned his eyes slowly up to look at her and smirked playfully. He hoped this was sexy. Was this sexy? It was probably goofy. Should he play it off as a goofball move? No, it was too late to do that.  
But Mary just smiled and kept her hand there. A good start. John convinced himself this was chemistry. Why not? A relationship would be very beneficial just now, he told himself again. What was keeping him from going ahead with it?  
“So tell me about yourself,” Mary whispered. There was something about her… something John couldn’t quite place. And yet she enchanted him, always confident of her next move, never giving him a chance to catch his metaphorical breath.  
“I’m… I’m a doctor, you’re a nurse, hah, this is sounding like a porno now,” John said, unsure of what to say. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that… Don’t know why I said that…”  
Mary laughed. “It’s ok. You’re pretty cute, you know? I should keep you around.”  
“Is that a compliment?” John said. The waiter came to take their order before Mary could answer.  
“So… tell me about yourself, then…?” John said, phrasing it as a question because he didn’t know what else to say.  
“Oh!” Mary laughed, and her face lit up brightly. “I’m glad you asked. You see, I’m new here in London, I’ve always worked here, but I used to live in Cambridge. It was quite a drive.” She shook her head and laughed a little, caught up in her own narrative. “My life is pretty screwed up, I should warn you, but maybe you can change that. … I hope you can.”  
John gave a forced smile. “Yeah.” He took a breath. “I’ll do my best. Ah! The food is here. Thank you.”  
Mary shot the waiter a smiling glance, then turned back to John. “My family hasn’t been around for the longest time.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be. I’m better off without them. Learned to be independent.”  
“Hmm.” John wondered about this. Could anyone be better off without family? If so, would he be? Excepting Harry, of course, he thought. Harry was different. Harry was cool.  
“So, are we still playing that chess game?” he asked teasingly.  
“If you want.”  
“Then what would you do if I… cheated?” John teased, nudging her foot with his. “Well, of course not… not like that. Just…”  
“Metaphorically.”  
“Yes.”  
“Well… I don’t know what I’d do. I’d stop playing… for one. And then I’d kill you.”  
“What?”  
“Bill you! For the game we played. Doesn’t come without cost! But it’s been a good game so far. I’ve enjoyed it, and I hope it only gets better. Eh?”  
“Sure!” John smiled jovially.  
What was keeping him from going ahead with it?  
***  
“Sherlock,” Mycroft called annoyedly.  
“Yes, Mycroft?” his brother replied, rushing into the room as he buttoned his dress shirt.  
“I think you should know something before you go back. John… he’s met someone,” Mycroft said slowly but mercilessly. He loved watching Sherlock brighten up at the thought of John, then gradually realize he had no chance. It was just too fun.  
“Met someone… yes, I’m sure,” Sherlock replied nonchalantly. And yet, all his movements had just a twinge more vigor at the mention of his blogger. “Who?”  
“A girlfriend,” Mycroft said bluntly.  
“That’s nice, are they best friends now?” Sherlock mocked in a high voice. “Just kidding, Mycroft, why should I care?”  
“You care… because you’re in love with the man.” Mycroft pursed his lips.  
“I am not!” Sherlock glared and stopped buttoning. “What gave you that idea?”  
“I don’t know, maybe how enraged you are whenever I bring it up?”  
Sherlock realized this was a valid point and immediately calmed down. “Mycroft, I told you I’m aromantic, just like you. I can’t let any of that distract from my work.”  
“You may be aromantic by choice,” Mycroft said with drawn-out syllables, “but you’re not aromantic like I am. You are capable of falling in love, you just avoid it.”  
“That’s not true! You can’t tell me my orientation,” Sherlock protested. “Now shut up, will you? And tell me what you want me to do.”  
“Oh, that’s entirely dependent on what you wish to do,” Mycroft hummed. “We could send you back, or… I have a special job waiting for you in Serbia. A ring of corrupt politicians…”  
“More corrupt than you?” Sherlock quipped, but in fact, he was deeply conflicted. He needed to get back to London and see John, but he also needed to take this job. After all, being on Mycroft’s good side could be useful at times.  
Mycroft laughed snidely. “Hmm,” he replied simply, not a very reassuring reply given his morally grey tendencies. “I assume you’ll want to return to London, but consider carefully: I’m giving you a choice, but your decision will not be inconsequential.”  
“I know,” Sherlock muttered absentmindedly. “But John…”  
“John doesn’t feel things for you that way,” Mycroft said quickly. “I think perhaps you ought to let him settle with Mary… That’s his new girlfriend.”  
“Mary!” Sherlock exclaimed, sounding exasperated though it was just a name.  
“Every time,” Mycroft said, more to himself than to his brother. “You don’t realize how incriminating that is, do you?”  
“What?” Sherlock snarled, turning angrily to face Mycroft.  
“Oh, what you’re doing right now.” He smiled. “So funny… He’s your damsel in distress, and you’ve just got to save him from big, bad Mary, isn’t that right?”  
***  
As a rule, things don’t tend to change. Many years before, the young Holmes brothers sat on a bench in their parents’ front yard playing Deductions, and bickering as always.  
“You’re completely wrong,” Mycroft was saying presently.  
“What?” Sherlock was outraged.  
“The jeans aren’t new, she just gained some weight recently because she’s in a stable relationship. Observe the ring on her finger.”  
“No, that’s not an engagement ring, but it’s supposed to look like one,” the younger brother said. “She wants to do what is expected of her, so she purchased a ring that some people might think is an engagement ring. But I can see it’s a cheap material because of the way the light shines on it, so she bought it for herself. The jeans are cheap, too. She’s practical – her jacket has been patched neatly several times – so she knows that the jeans will stretch in time, and she can save money. She’s willing to wear them until they fit better, further suggesting she has no romantic ties at the moment and is not looking for any. And she walks confidently, so I would say she has rather lost weight recently.”  
“Your conclusion?”  
“She tries to live up to expectations but is in no need of a romantic partner.”  
“Perfectly sound, perfectly sound,” Mycroft admitted. “But you’ve forgotten the factor of love. People do the silliest things when they’re in love. Such as look happy in a bad situation: her fiancé is poor and she’s not in good shape. And yet, she appears very confident. She’s hopelessly in love.”  
“Love seems like a nice thing,” Sherlock remarked, trying to play off his defeat. “Romance…”  
Mycroft scoffed. “Romance? Really?”  
“Yeah, romance!” Sherlock cried. Astute as he was with his deductions, he was still but a little boy. “Someday we’ll find romance. We’ll - we’ll fall in love, and get married, and have kids! That’s what adults do, isn’t it?” He looked up at his older brother curiously, eager for confirmation.  
“Not all adults,” Mycroft said tersely. “It’s not mandatory.”  
He sounded more vexed than Sherlock could account for. “But… the names on our backs! We’ll find our soulmates!”  
“Not everyone has that, Sherlock,” Mycroft said pointedly through clenched teeth.  
The curly-haired boy looked at him with wide eyes. “Really? Don’t we all…?”  
Mycroft just tried to avoid the subject for the rest of the evening. When the Holmes family sat down to dinner, however, to his great dismay, his younger brother almost immediately brought the subject up again.  
“Daddy,” said Sherlock inquisitively, “why do some people not have a name on their backs?”  
Mr. Holmes smiled understandingly. “It just means maybe they don’t want to have a girlfriend or a boyfriend someday. And that’s perfectly fine, to have no name, isn’t it, Myc?” He shot the gangly teenager a calming look. He knew, of course, although he tried not to intrude on his children’s affairs.  
“Yes,” Mycroft said. “Just fine. See, Sherlock?” He glared at his brother. “There’s nothing wrong with… those people.”  
“’Right,” Sherlock said meekly. He didn’t see why it should be a problem. In fact, come to think of it, he couldn’t picture himself ever wanting a girlfriend, anyway. Girls were annoying and stupid and they always told him to go away.  
***  
And they distracted him from work. So why was this Mary keeping him from going on a probably rather pressing case in Serbia? She wasn’t, he decided. Sherlock tried to push away his inexplicable feelings that he needed to warn John of something if he was dating again and told Mycroft with a deep breath, “Serbia, then. What do you need me to do?”  
“Six months, Sherlock, and you’ll be back in London. Infiltrate them, gather evidence, make deductions… I don’t know what you’ll find, but hopefully something. Maybe even the last remains of Moriarty’s web. It is imperative that you let nothing distract you.”  
***  
Six months later and Sherlock was being tortured as a result of his Serbian endeavor. He searched his mind palace for something, anything, that could keep him alive through the torture. Whip! John’s friendly smile on that first night on the case of the serial suicides. Whip! His inimitably charming laugh as they panted in the stairwell after a breathless chase through London. Whip! John’s anguished yell as Sherlock let himself fall from Bart’s Hospital. Little did he know – Whip! – little did he know that Sherlock had done it for him, and was still alive, longing for him. Whip. Whip. John going on dates with his girlfriend at Angelo’s without having to drag Sherlock along. Whip. Good for him. Whip.


End file.
